Reflections In A Ruby Eye
by Sutremaine
Summary: Kuja centric. Fills in the gap between Terra and the final battle, and explains how Kuja came to be who and what he is. Nowhere near finished.
1. Over Terra

**A World In Flames**

* * *

I'm dying. Soon I will be dead. The world will go on, but I will not. They'll all live in fear for a while, expecting the good knight Odin to ride in on his white horse and end their worthless lives, but then they'll realise that I'm not coming back and they'll start to forget me. My life will pass out of living memory and into the history books, and they'll set about imprisoning the last of my spirit between yellowed and mouldering pages. My deeds will be sanitised into stories to amuse children, and I will become nothing more than just another monster under the bed. My entire existence will have been irrelevant.

I'm dying. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's almost amusing to become a victim of cruel and ironic fate. I created the black mages as helpless tools to be used as I desired, not knowing that Garland had done exactly the same thing twenty-four years ago. I was the perfect angel of death, scattering the souls of Gaia before me like leaves before an autumn gale, and all the time my own soul trembled in that same wind. How Garland must have laughed, even as I killed him. The old bastard always did have a love of the poetic.

I'm dying. I won't die alone. I am still the angel of death, even though Garland has torn away my wings and thrown me into the abyss. My damnation will not go unregarded. I'm going to make sure there's nobody left to forget me. I won't let the world carry on as though my death means nothing. Maybe I'll finally be able to shut Garland up before I kill him for good. He thinks I'm a defect, does he? I'll show him how wrong he is.


	2. The Trials Of Iifa: I

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy IX and its characters and locations are property of Square-Enix. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this story.  
Author's notes: See profile.  
The warning that isn't: See those ruby-clad feet sticking out from under the farmhouse? You're not in Kansas anymore. :)  
A brief description of the chaptering system: It's weird.  
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**Into The Depths**

* * *

I stand atop the Iifa Tree and wonder how I'll end the world. It's a shame in some ways. I dislike seeing anything beautiful destroyed, and from my viewpoint the world is a perfect picture. The sun, huge and red as the Invincible's eye, hangs a little above the horizon, illuminating the apparently endless plains of the Pualei region. Both the sky and the distant plains are a single broad sweep of colour; the sky a deep, translucent orange, and the plains a faint, ancient russet. Between sky and land there's a thin, dancing ribbon of faded blue that I know is the sea, but I'll dismiss that as an illusion for now. Closer to my foreground, the scribbled outlines of boulders break the smooth purity of the ground, and then the flatness itself breaks apart into a fine mosaic of patchworked brown and scrubby green. Finally there come the stiff upper roots of Iifa, cold and hard as stone and covered in tenacious patches of lichen. Every single one of them is interesting enough to have its own picture painted, but I haven't the time. Even if I weren't dying as I stand here pondering the scenery, I don't think I'd be able to stop myself blowing the whole thing up out of sheer boredom. It's outlived its usefulness to the world. There's no more Terra and no more Terran souls.

However, Garland's first masterpiece might still be of some use to me in my hour of need. It's a remarkable machine, more full of secrets than even I can discern, and I hope its mysteries are up to the task I have in mind for it. Garland never explained to me the inner workings of the Iifa Tree, but he talked of the tree often enough for me to figure out certain things he probably never intended me to know.

He told me that its role in his plan was to trap the souls of Gaia in order to make the planet easier for the ancient Terra to assimilate, and that it was the Soulcage's job to bind these souls irrevocably to what would eventually become Gaia's corpse. He also mentioned in one of his many grand and boring speeches on the nature of memory that each soul holds within it traces of all that has gone before, in the same way that each lower life form carries the shadows of its evolutionary past within its body. If I could find a way into the Gaian souls' prison, then their combined memories would gouge a path I could use to travel back to whatever it was that had created the world. That was my theory, but it was one I had never investigated with any urgency. I had enough to amuse me on Gaia, and all the time in the world-- or so I thought-- to explore the mysteries of the universe.

And then came my ascension and my pyrrhic victory over Garland. I hadn't been so naïve as to expect that he had told me all of my secrets: he had hidden my own nature and the manufacturing process of the Genomes from me until he could credibly deny neither. But I hadn't expected a betrayal like this; to have been shamelessly deceived when I asked what Zidane meant to him, to have been promised the world in order to placate me and distract me from seeking the truth about my own life, and finally to have been cut down at my moment of triumph by him, the one man who would have lost nothing by leaving me to rule Gaia. The amusement in his voice as he revealed the last secret of my life had been the most unbearable thing about the whole scene. He still thought me the little child I had been for mere months; powerless in defeat and harmless in victory.

Well, my destruction of every living thing remaining on Terra proved I'm not powerless. I'm not harmless either, as Garland will see when I tear open the body of the world and pull out its still-beating heart. Zidane too. I'm counting on his exasperating tendency to follow me to the ends of the earth and charge in when I'd prefer not to have company, and I fully expect that he will play his part. I will play my part too, striking down my presumptive challenger in one last display of glory, and then I will make a funeral pyre of the world. It's time for the curtains to rise for the last time.

I close my eyes and reach out with my mind, searching for the place where the souls are kept, and the whispering of the wind is replaced by the whispering of the decaying souls vomited from Iifa's maw. I ignore it and push deeper, down into the heart of the tree where Mist production takes place, and suddenly my mind is ablaze with a million thoughts that are not my own. This is it. This is the way. The long and narrow path that will lead me to glory. All I must do is summon the courage to take the first and final step, to plunge into the seething tempest of souls and claim its power and its secrets for my own, to stand before the divine and spit in its eye before dragging it with me down into oblivion.

For a moment I hesitate-- I am after all pitting myself against five thousand years of Gaia's dead-- but I push down the lingering feelings of doubt. I'm going to die anyway. I may as well die fighting. Without another thought, I push myself wholly into the Iifa Tree's core, and the world turns green and fades to white.


	3. The Trials Of Iifa: II

**The Darkest Hour**

* * *

Who am I? _Nothing here to give that word meaning.  
_I am lost. _No place out there to have come from._

Riotously coloured thoughts flowering in my head before dropping their rotting petals to the flowing wind.

I see  
_a man sitting out in a desert, tending a small fire. The flames look like feathers ruffled by the wind. Suddenly the small circle of light around the fire appears to widen as the dark sands are lit up by a crimson light, and the man looks up to see that the sky is on fire. He drops to his knees and covers his head, and I know that he is making gabbled prayers to his god._

I hear  
_the sounds of a crowded summer market. I can hear every human voice, every animal bellow or squawk or shake its wings, every footfall on the parched earth, and each of these sounds is as clear to me as a single stitch in a tapestry. The human sounds die away like a round of applause, slowly at first and then quicker, and then the screams of women fill the air. The men shout in a language I cannot understand, but I know why they are shouting. As the sounds of a panicked stampede begin, the man in the desert is begging to be saved._

I smell and taste  
_the foetid jungle. The high pungent smell of animal droppings, the faint and sickening odour of the village cesspit, and overwhelmingly the almost physical smell of green things decaying into sweet earth. My mouth goes dry and I taste the sour remains of my last meal as the marketplace quietens and the sands begin to bleed. Then comes the taste of my own blood as I unconsciously bite my lip._

I feel  
_the icy wind on my face, the unrelenting and unceasing current found only in the greatest oceans. It pierces my headscarf and coat like a knife and I shiver and then grope for the flask hidden away in my breast pocket. What did I do to deserve lookout duty on a night like this? My hand freezes halfway through extracting the flask as I sense that something is terribly wrong. Hoping to quieten the thudding in my chest, I quickly raise the vessel and take a gulp of fiery liquid. It tastes like bile. The sky turns to a writhing, saturated purple and the screaming begins, and then absolute terror blooms in my brain and I know no more._

A single word comes to my mind as the simultaneous memories fade, but I know not from where it comes or what it means. _Terra..._

For a time I float, wrapped in thought that might or might not be my own. There's something I've forgotten, something to do with this mysterious thing 'terra'. For a single moment, a thought comes to me with the intensity of a thousand burning suns...

_this isn't real it can't be real my mind  
__my memory  
__my soul  
__my life  
__they're all around me  
__no  
__they are not me  
__I am me  
__I am Kuja  
__I am God here  
__God of these little souls_

...and is gone just as quickly. _Kuja..._ There's something I've forgotten, and I think it's important. I struggle to unfold my mind, to make it _think_ instead of allowing it to wallow in memory, but the memories only come faster. I am a summoner dead in childbirth, a rat dead in battle, a salamander dead in betrayal, a human dead in foolishness. A thousand lifetimes, a thousand years, and the whirlwind ceases and leaves me barely conscious. Once again, I float along. This time I do not fight. It will only lead me from confusion to oblivion.

Terra. Kuja. God. Who am I really? This place...

_feathers tickling my skin  
__hair brushing my shoulders  
__dust and wind and hardness under my heels_

...I don't think I belong here. But I can't find a way up to the surface. I'm drowning in my own memories, drowning in their gaudy quicksand depths, and all I'm doing is delaying the inevitable. _Think_. I must _think_, or I will lose myself forever. _Remember._ I must remember where to find myself.

A thousand years, a thousand lifetimes... to find myself...

_I_ am here and only here, still as a tree and subject to the memories that blow through me like wind through branches, but perhaps there is some evidence of _myself_ in this place, some echo that will lead me back to myself. I slowly unfold my mind, feeling it slip through centuries of dense and barely yielding memories, and begin the search for something familiar. For the first time since entering this place, I relinquish my mind of my own free will.

_I sit in the great library at Daguerro, studying various maps of the world. The oldest lies in front of me, miraculously whole despite its great age. But it is not the neat forest of forgotten names that interests me, or the painstaking categorisation of the southern archipelagos, or even that the map accurately covers the entire world during a time in which sea travel on this scale was almost unknown, but the omissions it contains._

_East across the ocean, half the world away, there lies a continent whose lower elevations are covered entirely by a bizarre mist that twists the natural world into unnatural horror and makes men turn on each other in madness. Far to the north-east, also half the world away, there stands a tree that has been mentioned in documents and literature for the last four thousand years._

_This ancient map makes mention of neither mist nor tree, and comes a bare fifty years before their first mention. The blank paper that shows the western plain of 'Chaldea' is dismissed with the simple scribble: _'nothing'_. The cartographer's tiny lettering covers the entirety of what is now called the Mist Continent, and in the fertile plains in the centre of the continent the names are crammed almost illegibly together._

_I turn my attention to another map dated one hundred and fifty years later and the change in the Mist Continent is amazing. A few of the plains' larger, coastal cities remain, but much of that part of the map is left blank or marked with the admission: _'savage lands'_. The scattered woodlands below the country of Alexandria_

_**The city of Alexandria**_

_have advanced roughly a hundred and fifty miles, gobbling up a hundred villages and a dozen towns. This map shows only sketchy details of the outermost continent, but the plains contain the message: '_sailors often tell of a tree rising from the very dust, that covers half the land with its roots. The idea is ridiculous but the details are consistent, and so I am forced to make mention of it'. _I wonder if the two are related somehow?_

I return to present with great difficulty, feeling sluggish and confused. Once again the word 'terra' rises in my mind, but other things in the old memory have captured my attention. The Mist Continent. Alexandria. A tree that covers half the land with its roots. All of those things are known to me, but I don't know how.

I think of the feeling of _wrongness_ when Alexandria was mentioned. It was as though I had been listening to somebody talking and that person had slipped a nonsense word into a sentence without seeming to realise it. For a moment I knew the right word (or rather the right _fact_), and then it was pushed aside and buried as the memory marched inorexably onwards. Alexandria... That will be my next destination. I strike out slowly, trusting my mind to attach itself to something more familiar, and fade away for the second time.

_The town of Alexandria is now only a day's ride away, and I_

Pull away before I sink too deeply. I'm getting closer, but something's still not quite right. I fade away again, deeper this time, surrendering to the knowledge of my subconscious mind.

_I'm going to die here, I know it, I just know it. I heard what happened to Burmecia and Cleyra and Lindblum but I was too stupid to leave Alexandria before it happened here and now I'm going to die like all my friends, torn to pieces by one of those huge stinking skittering monsters. I press myself into a doorway to catch my breath. God, it hurts even to breathe. One of them got me across the ribs and I think it broke a couple, and there's blood all over the place and I feel sick. But I can't stay here, I can't wait for the whole place to be flattened like Cleyra. I mean, those rat-people have always given me the creeps, but I'd never wish that on anyone._

_Suddenly there's a huge explosion and the air is filled with a flaring red light. A few slates fall from the houses into the crush of escaping people, and I know the end is coming. The east gate is just down the road from here. I can make it safely if I run, and then all I'll have to worry about is finding a doctor. I dash out into the streaming crowd, arms curled protectively over my chest, and try to keep up. Being trampled to death would be far worse than being blown to bits._

_As I approach the square, a flash of white by the fountain catches my eye and I nearly stumble in surprise. There's a guy just standing there! What the hell is he thinking? Well, bugger him, if he wants to stay here. I've got my own skin to worry about. I stagger past him, close enough to touch, but he's still staring at the sky like it called his mother a whore. As I reach the gate and elbow my way through the crowd there, I hear him yelling about enslaving Alexandria or something. He's touched in the head, he must be, the poor bastard. Well, I hope some kind soul gets him out of here before the place goes up. There's nothing I can do for him._

_I finally emerge into the sweet night air and peel away from the crush of people so I can sit down. If I can just close my eyes for a second, I'll be okay. I slump against Alexandria's outer wall, feeling the comforting stone taking my weight even as it knocks the breath out of me in a burst of blue and white stars, and try to calm myself. Just a few seconds..._

I come to feeling offended for some reason I can't quite place, and with none of the usual disorientation. Was it my death that caused the clean break? But there are more important things in that memory to think about. That man... the half-seen man in white. _I've forgotten something... and I know it's important._ Who is he? He looked familiar-- no, not familiar, but something more. And again that sense of _wrongness,_ in the instant that I noticed him. If only I had had more time to study him, or given him more attention. I think he has some enigmatic connection to Alexandria, and I also think that finding him is the key to finding myself. I prepare myself for the final surrender, the complete relinquishment of all that is me to my hidden core of memory and mind.

_Another night round... I don't know why I bother. There's never anyone around. I've been doing this for years and the only person I've ever seen is rusty old Captain Steiner. Yep, this part of the castle is so deserted that not even the staff are around after midnight. I might as well just sleepwalk through my shift, it's not as though it'd make any difference. There is one advantage though-- I can have a smoke any time I like (like now for example, I think as I pull out a fag and light up) as long as I remember to kick the butts under the carpets, and nobody'll catch me because there's only Steiner and I can hear him a mile off. Honestly, I don't know why the Queen doesn't make him get some new armour, or just get rid of him. He's a loudmouthed walking scrapheap and an embarrassment to the entire castle, and so are his ridiculous Knights of Pluto. I sometimes think they're only there out of tradition, or maybe to remind people why the women are in charge here. Still, I can't fault him for his devotion to duty, and the princess likes him. Poor girl... ever since the king died, the only person she's really got is that big lug. The queen just hasn't been herself these last few months-- she's been snapping at anyone who does anything even slightly wrong, and there's no way the princess could go to her in that state. I even heard she had a retainer thrown into the dungeons for arranging a vase of roses wrong, but I don't think she's that far gone... yet._

_A single soft footstep from a corridor to the right shakes me from my usual zombie haze, and I quickly pinch out the fag and tuck it back under my breastplate. Did Steiner finally get some proper armour...? Nah, there's no way he could be that quiet, even if he was wearing pillows on his feet. Huh, wish I had a pillow under my head right now... My hand drops to my sword, ready for anything, and I step noiselessly around the corner to confront the intruder. My breath catches in my throat as I regard the lamplit apparition standing not ten feet away from me-- but after a moment I recognise the late-night wanderer and relax, feeling relieved and disappointed. My sword arm drops to my side and I stand at ease. "Good evening, Lord Kuja. I didn't know it was you."_

_"Yes, I gathered that," he says mildly._

_This is the first time I've seen him up close, and I try and take a good look at him without him noticing. First time I saw him, way up on the queen's balcony, I thought he was a woman. I'm not the only one either-- everyone I've spoken to either couldn't really tell or thought the same way I did. Close to, he still looks pretty girly, but you can tell he's a man... though I'm not sure how. He reminds me more of a drag queen than anything, especially with that deep voice coming out of that soft, made-up face. I bet he's queer as a three-gil coin as well. Fucking freak._

**What_ did you just call me?_**

_My head swims for a moment, almost like I'm drunk out of my skull, but then I shake myself out of it._

_**Me...? But I'm-- no, wait...**_

_Just the last few nights catching up to me, that's all. I _knew_ I should've taken a day off after Molly's birthday bash... I look at Kuja anxiously, hoping that he hasn't noticed anything odd, and I find that I'm almost staring at him. My head begins to swim again, and this time I feel close to passing out._

_**Too forceful...**_

_It feels like there's something alien inside of my head, trying to unfold itself. What's happening to me? Is it something that Kuja's doing? Oh shit, can he read minds or something? I look at him again, expecting to see him smirking at me as he sees that I know that he knows what I think of him, but--_

_**Look closely now.**_

_I must be losing my marbles. He stands perfectly still, like he's frozen in time, and the world around him is all blurred and vague like I'm seeing it out of the corner of my eye. I can feel the alien presence shuddering behind my eyes, which are now locked on Kuja's form in a search for..._

_**Look closely, you addled fool! See what's really there!**_

_...for the thing that is concealed. God, I can't _think _with this thing in my head! I can't seem to look away from Kuja, and my eyes start to water with the strain. As I blink away the tears, he looks different in a way I can't quite place. It's only for a split second, but I swear I saw a bit of rope or something round his leg as well._

_The shuddering sensation sharpens into a white-hot knife inside my head, and this time it's pain that causes my eyes to water. Again, Kuja looks different, and I feel my control slipping away as the thing inside me forces my mind to focus on this altered image. For one single moment, I feel like there's somebody right behind me and taking a step forward, and then the swimming image in front of my eyes resolves itself into a stable thing, and..._

_I see the truth._

_I perceive what I am to ignore: the slim sandy tail spiralling down the right boot.  
__I note what I am to dismiss: the feminine, voluptuous figure and the delicate chin and brow.  
__I learn what I am not to know: that the hair is blonde and the eyes are like shallow lakes in sunlight._

_But I do know_, _and _I remember.  
I remember everything.

"I won't delay you any longer," he says, and turns to leave. In that moment I see myself as others would see me if they could see beyond the walls and veils of illusion I so carefully craft, see myself in the female body that Garland saw fit to entrust with my soul. It's a testament to the force of my magic-- and to the stupidity of others-- that I can pass as a man even while barely decent. Kuja (it feels strange to consider myself in the third person, but these are strange circumstances) is now at the curve of the corridor, and I watch him-- or her, it makes no difference in the privacy of my own thoughts-- sashay out of sight.

The conquered soldier shifts in the depths of my mind, leaving me as light-headed as she was previously, and I realise that her mind and memory will inevitably reassert themselves despite my rebuttals. The dizziness suddenly grows worse as the woman tries to gain control and continue her rounds, and I push her down in irritation. It's time for me to leave.

I open my eyes.


	4. The Trials Of Iifa: III

**The Longest Road / The Deepest Void**

* * *

The scene that greets me is so familiar that for a moment I think I've been taken back to Gaia, and I feel cheated at almost losing my mind for nothing. Then I notice that I stand at ground level and there are no mountains or sea in the distance, and that my senses are curiously numbed, and I start to get the feeling that I'm still out of my body. Well, that suits me just fine. I still haven't figured out how to open the path to the beginning of the world, and it would be a poor end to my performance if I had to resort to brute force to destroy Gaia.

The endless plains and red sky in front of me aren't worth exploring (and I'm not capable of flying here, despite still being in a Trance), and I turn to see if there's anything behind me. My eyes widen as I see an enormous gorge perhaps half a mile away, stretching right across my field of vision as neat and narrow as a razor wound. I can't see any point where it even narrows, but there's a tree-shaped blur somewhere off to my extreme right that might prove to be useful.

It grows from the other side of the gorge like some twisted, stunted thing on a mountaintop, but the leaves are points of light the colour of the Iifa Tree's core and the branches are wraiths of Mist. All souls released to the planet in the last five millennia are here, trapped like flies in amber and then hidden away and hung up like the pretty baubles they are, never to return to Gaia. Such a shame. Now how do I get to the other side of the gorge? I have other places to be, and this silent world sets my teeth on edge.

After a few minutes of watching and thinking, I understand what this strange scene means. The ever-crumbling edges of the gorge are nothing more exotic than the sands of the world's largest and strangest hourglass. Every death means a new leaf on the tree, a new life in death. I note with some satisfaction that it appears to be doing well of late, but I can't reflect on my little triumphs while my body remains isolated and vulnerable in the physical world. Time runs here as it does on Gaia, and Zidane will come to the Iifa Tree sooner or later.

Stretching out my mind for the second time this day, I reach into the web of Gaia's very life-stuff and sink my senses into it, feeling the memories of a dying world, relishing the way I hold them at arm's length in my palm. Slowly, ever so slowly, I draw the strands together with all the care of a mother untangling a child's hair. The leaves tremble and slide uneasily, sheep dimly aware of the slaughterhouse, straggling away and then returning, unable to stray far from their fellows. Let them worry. They have good cause.

The process is slow, but finally this strangest of bridges is ready for use. I cast a critical eye over its smoke-and-glass smoothness, the clean lines and planes and the pure translucency of its structure, naked and endless as a scream. It fills my vision, green and white like the dead stare of a blind man, and I stare back, realising for the first time the gravity of my intentions. The hot anger of betrayal has left me, expelled in pointless vengeance upon a world already in ashes. All that is left is the dull knowledge of my empty life's end, and the even duller knowledge that there can no longer be any going back. I will make an end of everything and the only thing that can possibly stop me is my own end, whether by the restless course of time or by the hand of my own dear brother. And I can do no more about it than an actor can suddenly sweep away his costume and leap into the audience. We are all puppets, pawns in the great chess game of fate, actors on a stage reading out the scripts written at our births, and there is no longer any need to pretend otherwise. It's a thought both relieving and oppressive, and it is the final push I need.

As I place a cautious toe onto the bridge, the world changes as though it were a candle being snuffed. This time I'm not surprised by the sudden change of scene, but the new reality my mind has chosen to inhabit is by no means a pleasant one. It's cold, windy and raining hard, and I look around for some shelter. There is none. There is only the granite bridge, the leaden skies, and the glassy rain. There is a guardhouse behind me, rising into the grey air, but I know there's no point in trying the door. There can never be any going back in this place, and so I begin the long walk back to the origin.

The balustrades of the bridge are as high as my chest, and the incessant wind slaps my sodden hair across my cheek. I reach up and pull it from my face for what seems to be the millionth time, and a sudden harsh gust pushes it back across my cheek. I reach up and pull it from my face, and the wind pushes it back, and I pull it away. Always the same. There's no end to this world. I've been walking for what seems like forever and there's nothing but sky and air and the bridge rolling out before me like a butterfly's tongue and water and more water. Water cascading in the air, water streaming to the ground, water undulating across the grey stone and mirrored in the grey skies and water grey like twilight and ashes. And me, the only thing of colour in this place, blood and bone and... yes, and ashes, ashes moulted with every footfall. I wonder if I'll consume myself in my own flames before I can set existence itself alight. No! I can't allow myself to think like this. I am Kuja. I am perfection. I am the angel of death. I am become death itself, and I will graciously share that death as I did my life.

By now my heels are aching and I'm soaked to the bone, and I might as well have been walking the same ten feet of bridge this whole time. Time. Hah. I fancy I might have imagined the concept. I keep my head down and my arms folded as I walk in a vain effort to preserve some warmth and keep the rain out of my eyes. God, I must look absolutely pathetic, hunched over like an old woman, a beggar in scarlet rags.

I chance a glance upwards, slitting my eyes against the hated weather, and my heart leaps as I realise that I can see the end of the bridge. The land beyond is a flat and barren waste; dry, flaking earth, twilight-dark and grey as ash, but its solid dullness is a pleasing sight. I hurry on as fast as I can without becoming careless, and finally I am within two steps of solid ground.

Hesitating for a moment despite the lashing rain, I survey the dead earth before me. What could this bizarre, unrelenting world throw at me now? I have mastered the souls of Gaia and made a path from their memories, and I am now ready to finish treading that path. If the illusions of this place have any basis in reality, then there should be nothing more standing between me and the thing that made the world. It's possible that there is some sort of trial to overcome before I am allowed access to the soul of the universe, but that doesn't bother me. A simple test of strength would be a welcome relief after the lunacy I've endured to get to this point.

I march forward into the still world, and to my surprise it remains that way. The bland warmth and dryness of this world make the soaking chill of the bridge a distant memory, and I am warm and dry as well. Best of all, I have my powers back. I rise a few feet into the air and perform half a dozen lazy somersaults, and as I do so I notice that the bridge has vanished.

In its place is a slumping vista of hills and valleys, covered as far as the eye can see with patches of some spiky black substance. Above the jagged horizon, twin streams of taintless light pour forth from a single unseen point and illuminate the coal-bright world below. I turn myself upright and take a good look at the scenery, letting my imagination play idly over its features. The sky, I think, has fallen to the ground like a shroud and left the air bleeding quicksilver, and the scarlet and ultramarine stars gleam indifferently in their new home. As I contemplate the constellations of this fallen heaven, a few points of light resolve without fuss into the suggested outline of a tree. This understanding spreads wildfire-fast across the landscape, and I realise that the glassy fronds of charcoal are in fact blackened and skeletal trees and thorns.

A point of movement up in the sky suddenly catches my eye, shocking me out of my reverie. When I look up it's gone and I assure myself that it was just an odd flicker of light, but I continue to scan the sky. I can't be too careful here. As if in response to that thought the thing reveals itself again. In the space of a few seconds it grows from a pinprick to a pinhead, and even from this distance I recognise the purposeful soar and swoop of a full-grown dragon. A few seconds more, and the appearance of a hair-fine pair of wings removes any possible doubt.

I drop to the ground in an attempt to look less confrontational and watch it approach. Dragons are imperious creatures. Any display of strength by a presumptive stranger is taken as a challenge that must be answered, and I have to admit that I'm not in the best shape for a fight. But I didn't get this far by being faint and nerveless, and I'm more than capable of rescuing myself from a dragon.

Now it is the size of my hand, and it's almost too gorgeous to harm-- twice the mass of my former steed and armoured at foot and tail with pewter-coloured plates; skin as dark and slick as an eel's and gleaming dully with shifting patterns of red and blue; and with four spreading, scarlet-tipped wings. I wonder what those snowy wings will look like once I stain them completely scarlet...


	5. The Trials Of Iifa: IV

**The Cunning Of Dragons

* * *

**

The dragon lands with a dull thud, small clouds of dust rising from beneath its claws. It does not fold its wings, but instead lowers its head and peers at me through small red eyes that are no more than occasional gleams of light. It won't do anything while it still flaunts those wings, a peacock writ large in tooth and claw, but a mere second could easily change all that. All it needs to do is lunge forward and lash out, and then-- exit Kuja, stage left, thank you all for coming and I hope you enjoyed the performance.

The dragon stares at me a few seconds longer from the depths of its skull, and then speaks in the voice of a bored king.

"Greetings, Kuja."

"Greetings, Lord Dragon," I reply cautiously. It never hurts to be polite in the face of the unknown. "May I have your name?"

"I am Nova, god and ancestor of all dragons."

I bow deeply enough to expose the back of my neck. "It is an honour to be in your presence-"

"Spare me the formalities," it says, voice remaining bland and level. "Your serpent's tongue has no place here."

"As you wish." It's something of a relief to be able to speak freely in this overwhelming creature's presence, and all the questions that have built up since I plunged into the Iifa Tree come out in an undignified rush. "Where am I? Is this place real, or like the other places I passed through? What did those places mean? Why are you here with me now?" The last question is carefully phrased. I don't want its life story until I know what sort of welcome it gives to uninvited guests.

The dragon lord chuckles softly. "So many questions, little phoenix. Tell me why I should answer them when you will be dead within minutes." It flexes its front claws, driving the point home. Well, that's one question answered.

"Do you really think you can kill me? I warn you, I'm tougher than I look." I take a step forward and watch the dragon lord fold its wings just a little. "My patience with this place is wearing thin, and I want answers."

"Very well then. I will give you answers, and more than you asked for. Do _not_ interrupt me." It spreads its wings again, and begins its story.

"I am a guardian of creation, created when Terra first realised that it would need to absorb another world in order to survive. They already knew of the nature of memory and quickly recognised that imprisoning another planet's souls would allow some curious individual to travel back to the Crystal, which is the source of all things and the terminus of every creature's memory.

"Three worlds were created with the birth of the universe. The first of these is the Crystal's world, a place made completely from the mind and memory of the Crystal. The second of these is Memoria, a place brought forth by the memory of its occupants. The third of these is the Shapeless Land, a place formed from the memories of the entire universe. All of these worlds are more real than you could ever comprehend. They exist in all dimensions, being the foundation for what you lesser flesh-beings ignorantly call reality." It snorts dismissively. It's the first dragonish sound it has made and I'm almost offended that it should betray its origins like this.

"Your minds are incapable of truly contemplating anything other than the demands of the flesh that chains them to the earth, and you are no more aware of reality than a blind man is aware of the beauty of a rainbow," it concludes, and then claps its wings to its back. The sound is like the first clash of armies; a cry to all the mad poets of the world to pen their ballads of valour and chivalry. I'd love to see what tales they would tell of me.

"I have no wish to die in your flames, little phoenix, and I will fight for what life is mine!"

It takes to the air in a blur of silken feather and iron scale and is fifty feet above me in seconds. I take to the air too, streaking up and away until Nova is the size of a large moth, and slowly prepare a weak Thundaga as it flies up to meet me. It wheels away the moment it enters my range, and I think I hear it chuckle as I abandon the spell.

It's planning to force me into rapid casting, a thing only marginally less hated by mages than being Silenced. Every spell is a burning coal forcing its way through a body unable to do anything but scream in violation. They say that mages burn with power... they don't know how right they are. Flesh was never made for magic.

Nova approaches again with lazy confidence, and I wait for it to come within fifty feet before starting to cast Flare. The moment the tell-tale yellow haze surrounds me, it flicks its wings and releases a shockwave that I barely see before it slams into me and sends me tumbling through the air, the spell lost. I regain my balance just in time to avoid being gored and cast Flare at its head in an instant of panicked stupidity.

_God I'd forgotten how painful this could be gulping down the power--_ and then a feeling of being sliced in two and a breathless snap of oblivion as the magic arcs up my spine and out into the world. Just before I drop like a stone almost into the waiting thorns I see a comical look of surprise on the dragon's cadaverous face, and then the magic takes hold and begins to dance. Nova screams above me like a sheet of metal being torn in half, in perfect harmony with the thrilling lunatic whine of black magic and what I now realise is my own howl of pain, and tosses and claws at its head in a vain attempt to shake off the explosion.

This isn't going to be an easy fight-- it's just too quick for me to anything but half-kill myself every time I want to hurt it. I look over at the lit horizon and consider making a dash for freedom, but turn away as soon as the thought is formed. I'm going to fight this thing, just like I've fought everything else in this unreal world, and all so that I can live to die as I see fit. How splendidly and disgustingly ironic.

"Not bad, little phoenix." Nova's voice seems to come from right beside my ear, even though it's over a hundred feet away. "But the first blood was mine, as will be the last."

Let it taunt me all it likes. I will bide my time, just as I did with the elephant-lady, and then I will show it that even the gods are beneath me. I will show it that even in the real world the dragon is slain and the prince and the fair maiden have a happy ending... such as it is.

Then comes utter silence as the Flare fades away completely, and the battle really begins as Nova folds like a fan and falls like a thunderbolt, all sparks and fury like Bahamut over Alexandria. This time, _I'll_ take the offensive. Its claw lashes out whiplash-quick and dream-slow, raking the air a few carefully-planned inches from my belly. I stay tantalisingly close as it pulls up, and it takes the bait and swipes at me again. I'm already fifteen feet away, daring it to send another shockwave at me, and the stupid thing does exactly that.

The attack flashes by under me as I twist and drop like a diver along the recovering dragon's body, hurling a two-handed Flare into the pebble-scaled creases between its thigh and belly and driving the magic deep into its guts. It takes off like a loose catherine wheel, howling fit to rip the air in two, and I take the opportunity to cast Curaga on myself (blessed white magic, no more painful than the caress of a warm butter knife...). Nova writhes around itself like a snake in its death throes, torment written with letters of fire on every tortured line of horn and scale, and suddenly spreads its wings and dives.

I tense myself for another attack, wondering what the hell it could be thinking, but I needn't have worried. It's oblivious to everything but its own agony as it passes overhead like the mother of all meteors, bleeding a trail of fading magic and trying in vain to outrun the coldfire that lights its body with incandescent pain. It screams again, despair and rage and madness all coiled and fed together, and a softer heart than mine would surely have cracked and bled.

Fate is favouring me now and it knows it, and I think it's time for a little playful conversation. I bring the fleeing creature up short just as the spell fades completely. Blood oozes from several self-inflicted gouges on its fleshless head and its eyes burn through their mask of russet tears. Ignoring the filthy ruin of its face, I smile pleasantly as though meeting an old business partner. "Still so confident, Lord Dragon?"

"You are not the strongest opponent I've ever faced, nor the fastest, nor the most intelligent." It chuckles softly. "Your arrogance is great. My patience is greater. You will fall."

Looking into its unconcerned face, I suddenly feel the rage I thought I'd vented on Terra rise in me like bile. Its words are nothing to me, _nothing_, but its indifferent tone of implacable certainty is as maddening as a horsefly. I'll tear apart that calm facade and reach in until I find the doubt and anxiety that lie at the core of every living thing, and then we'll see how composed it can remain.

Ultima's haze rises around me at a thought and the pyrelights fade into existence, swirling like miniature comets in a sulphur sky. The dragon calls me phoenix. It must know what this light is, and what it did to the dead world. "But you see, Lord Dragon, my arrogance is justified." I spread my arms as if offering peace. "I am the true angel of death, Garland's unacknowledged triumph. I brought death to Gaia. I killed Garland himself. I annihilated Terra. I will destroy you and then I will end everything, myself included."

A pause. "How very thorough of you." Silence.

The sheer flippancy of its reply dries my mouth. Does it not understand me? Or has it heard similar boasts in the past? I make no boasts here, only promises. "That's right," I say, swallowing my anger with a smoothness born of years of practice. "Why don't we skip the formalities and end this? I'll let you give up while you still can. You'll still die, of course, but I expect the end will be painless. And if it's not... well, we'll suffer together, won't we?"

Silence again. Inside its head it's no doubt chuckling infernally, and it knows how much that knowledge maddens me. Why am I letting it get to me like this? Why am I allowing it to waste my time?

I raise my arm lazily and open my palm. Through my spread first and second fingers, I think I see eyes widen, and then I release a small Ultima blast without word or warning. When the explosion clears, the dragon is clutching its bleeding left shoulder and looking at me with undisguised fury.

"You would use Ultima when there is so little left to power it?" it says incredulously.

I don't care. I don't care at all. As long as I have enough life in me to reach this marvellous Crystal, nothing else matters. The haze brightens in readiness for another attack, and the dragon snarls and then drops in a foolish attempt to put as much space between us as it can. Well, well, well, it looks as though my dragon is made of paper. I grin wildly as I take aim and fire a larger blast. There's a time and a place for everything, and this is the time for nothing but force and to Hell with the consequences.

The second blast rips into Nova's front left wing, twisting it horribly and sending its unfortunate owner tumbling to the ground. It lands barely upright, flailing its tail and remaining wings for balance like a marionette in the hands of a clumsy child. I float slowly towards it, gathering energy as I haven't done since I first tested my powers, and force the spell through the moment the dragon fully regains its composure.

The Flare wraps itself round the dragon's vital organs, driven so deep that the only evidence of my spell is the arcs of magic crawling across its skin and dancing like sentient spider webs between its limbs. While it is still writhing I hit it with another Flare, my own body screaming at being misused twice in such a short period of time. Nova sinks to its knees, bellowing wildly. Another Flare, another slice in an open wound, and the pain bends me double and then snaps me the other way. But I can't stop now, and if I break my back then so be it.

Nova is now lit up like a fireworks display, magic doubling and redoubling and tying itself in ever-tightening knots around every organ and cell, but it's still barely on its feet. An admirably strong creature indeed, and breaking it will be so much the sweeter for that. Expecting it to beg for mercy is pointless, but the sight of its broken body will be compensation enough. A final Flare, this one drawn so deeply that I can see the patterns forming in the air and funnelling into my flesh, and it is over. Nova collapses onto its side as I touch down, now unable to do anything but uselessly pedal its limbs.

"Looks like I win." I walk stiffly towards my defeated opponent, ignoring the sensation of being torn in half from the groin up. "Time for you to die now." The end will have to be quick. I don't have the time or the energy to savour the victory, and it's with faint regret that I prepare another powerful Flare. I take my time over the casting and allow the spell's energy to percolate through my battered flesh and around my now hypersensitive nerves. It still hurts.

"So this is the way the world ends..." the dragon murmurs, apparently unaware of the steadily rising whine that signals its impending doom. "Not with a bang but with a whimper."

Something in its voice-- amusement, perhaps?-- compels me to release control of the spell despite my desire to finish this costly fight. I'll listen to what it has to say, and if it turns out to be useless then it will pay tenfold for that wasted Flare. I narrow my eyes at the unresponding creature. "What did you say?"

It turns its head slightly, finally acknowledging my presence. "What do you think your Zidane will do when he finds you standing atop Iifa as vacant as your siblings? He will not follow you here. He does not know how."

I remain silent and wait for it to get to the point. Even at death's door, it won't save its breath.

"You will be killed and your soul will be stranded here, but he will not know that. The world will think you dead and in a way they will be right, as there can be no returning to a broken vessel. To prevent that death, you must destroy the Crystal before Zidane reaches the Iifa Tree. And then you will have your moment of triumph, but none will be there to witness it." Its head falls back to the dust and it watches me from beneath its eyelids, no doubt expecting me to swallow that tripe and fly off in a panic. I would have thought that the so-called god of dragons would have something that would give me at least a second's pause and not just waste those precious seconds. I should kill it and leave immediately... but I can't resist the urge to leave a few parting words.

"What a guardian you are, telling me to destroy the thing you hold so dear! But you'll have to do better than that if you want to trick me." Even as I say the words they seem hollow. I should be enjoying my victory, but it's as though I'm reading my lines off somebody else's script. My head hurts. My whole body hurts. I'm sick of this dragon, of this place, of the world, of the hell my fading existence has become. I just want it to be over. _I_ just want to be over.

"What could I possibly do to you, little phoenix? I am the last barrier between the world and its origin, and I have been thoroughly breached." It tosses its head. "Ignore me if you wish and go forth. I can no longer stop you."

"You never could," I say simply, and then turn away and take to the air. The Crystal is beyond those mountains...

_Is_ this the way the world ends?

"Very well then. Tell me what you will."

"Open a portal to Memoria with your physical body, and the whole of Gaia could pass through if it so wished. To do that, you must do in the physical world what you did inside the Iifa Tree."

"And how do you propose I get back to the physical world? We can't all be higher beings, Lord Dragon."

"Fold your wings, little phoenix, and you will fall to your proper place in the order of creation."

I think I see. To get back to my own reality, I must cast off all but the three dimensions that comprise it. My soul, I hope, will take care of itself. "Thank you. You've been most helpful." And it really is time for you to be going, don't you think? Before I can even raise my arm, Nova vanishes in a rainbow swirl of particles. I glance around wildly and tense for a renewed attack, but nothing comes. After a few moments, I hear Nova's voice ringing clearly between my ears.

"Like the Iifa Tree, there's more to me than meets the eye. You have burned my fingers quite badly, little phoenix, and I now withdraw my hand before you attempt to remove it. You are deceptive, dishonourable, and deceitful, and I hope you hang yourself with the rope I have just given you!"

With those words, its presence fades completely. It's a smart little god, even if it does always have to have the last word. And it thought _me_ arrogant? I finally allow myself the luxury of sinking to my knees, curling my arms around my head and torso in a feeble attempt to soothe the inevitable consequences of using the power granted to me at birth. My back muscles are still twitching, and a particulaly vicious wave of pain makes me retch. No matter how many times I tell myself that this is not my real body that feels this and that I can return to Gaia at any time, the pain keeps me pinned to the ground like a moth on a corkboard.

Eventually the pain fades to a twisting ache, and I close my eyes in preparation for a journey beyond my comprehension. I imagine invisible tendrils withdrawing from reality like roots growing in reverse; my body slipping through layers of being like wind passing through branches; my senses awakening like flowers greeting the morning sun; and it is so. I hear the wind whispering through the Iifa Tree's leaves, feel those leaves under my feet like soft gritty leather, smell the warm baked earth far below me. I open my eyes and there is Gaia in all its vivid colours, almost painful after the deadness of unreality. The sun has moved a bare half-inch since I first landed on the Iifa Tree, but I must waste no more time.

Gaia's souls still rest beneath me, waiting to be manipulated from this side of the physical world. With all the authority I can muster, I command the souls beneath me to rise, and they do so, hanging in the air beyond my vision in the form of the tree of life. Now I must bring them all together... The process is slow, and more than once I think I'm going to pass out from the pain. At last it is ready, hovering in the air like a cobra about to strike, and I order it into the air above the Iifa Tree and then _through_ it.

An unearthly whine assaults my ears as the tear is made, and then the portal begins to open. It grows like a tumour, consuming the air as it funnels the stuff of Gaia into the place called Memoria. The Iifa Tree shakes with the disturbance, and a massive crack reverberates through my feet as Mist begins to pour from its trunk and roots. Perfect. Zidane can't fail to find me now, and even if the Mist shrouding the world isn't enough of a clue for him then the mile-high sphere of purple light should give him a hint as to his final destination.

For the third time today I pause in the face of something far bigger than I am, and then I grit my teeth and fly up to meet my destiny.


	6. Outside: I

**At The Eleventh Hour**

* * *

The world on the other side of the portal is rather more pleasant than I expected and I glance around with interest, forgetting my mission for a moment. I stand on a cobblestone path that is somehow suspended in mid-air, and at the end of this path is a gigantic castle topped with a rising tangle of miniscule towers. The air is warm and windless, and rays of light shine from the broken clouds to the red world beneath. From up here, I can't tell whether the closely packed terracotta bumps are rocks or roofs, and I resist the temptation to fly down and take a closer look. There's something unreal about them, as though they're only an image projected onto a screen, and I feel strangely uneasy as I scrutinise them. No, I don't think be flying anywhere. I feel the utter emptiness of pure nothing stretching away on every side, and I suddenly understand that to stray from the given path would be to leave behind everything that is real and become part of the infinite void. I wonder how it is that I can know that, and I begin my journey towards the looming castle.

_"Well done. I didn't think you'd make it this far."_

Garland... How did _he_ get here? What does he want with me now? Has he come to taunt me in my final hours, or to try and dissuade me from my destiny? But try as I might, I can't feel angry at this intrusion. There's nothing left he can take from me.

"Is that really you again, Garland? What do you mean by that?"

"_One can no more use one soul to travel back to the origin than walk a tightrope made of a single hair. The Iifa Tree contains Gaia's souls and prevents them from being judged by the planet. When you forced those souls-- those memories-- in the tree to come together and stretch out to the past, you formed a path of memories strong enough to carry you back to the beginning of time. Now you stand here, at the threshold of all things, and you have no idea how far you have come._" His voice stops, although I know he is still watching. It's a moment or two before he speaks again, and now he sounds a little regretful. "_I made you too well, Kuja. For better or for worse, you always exceeded my expectations._"

And what expectations were those? To bear the dangerous brunt of the tasks Garland had intended for Zidane? To be an ignorant understudy to the true angel of death until the time came for him to emerge triumphantly from the wings? Well, this is one actor who won't be retiring quietly, and Garland has only himself to blame for that. He told me I was his right hand on Gaia, a perfect incarnation of his mighty will, an instrument of Terra's divine justice. And I believed him, and so I acted accordingly, and in turn I was treated accordingly. My losses are as real to me as if I were being deprived of my rightful and true position, and Garland either will not or can not see that. He never could.

"Shut up! You bastard! You father of lies! You never..." A sudden uprising of old memories stops my tirade, and as the long-forgotten images and sounds rise through me I remember the nature of this place. I try to force away thememoris triggered by my heated recollections, but it's as though a floodgate has been opened in my mind. The last thing I remember before being engulfed by the rising waters is Garland's quiet laughter.


	7. Outside: II

**Reflections

* * *

**

The pond of Bran Bal was like a huge mirror in the middle of the village, and I spent as much of my time as I could at its edge. It was the only thing in Bran Bal that really moved. Yes, there were bubbling testing-tubes in the lab, coloured lights on the locked doors in the castle, and a zillion different glowing things everywhere I looked, but the pond was special. Most of the time it was still as a picture, but when I touched a finger to its surface it came to life like nothing else on the whole of Terra. It rippled and swayed and shifted like I was tickling a sleeping monster, and then all the movement sank back into its body and it was still again. It was always interesting to throw a stone into different parts of the pond and see all the different kinds of ripples it made, but Garland stopped me from doing that because I kept throwing stones at the other Genomes.

I told him I did it to make them do something except stand there, which I suppose was a little true, but the real reason I did it was because they made me mad. They were stupid and dull and they never did anything except stare at things. They would answer mine or Garland's questions if they could, but they never spoke to each other unless they were working, and they never spoke to me at all unless they had a message from Garland.

There was one now, emerging from the meeting hall where the knowledge crystal was kept and passing by on the other side of the pond. I watched it walk past the entrance to the inn and then stop dead. It looked like a statue standing there, not even its tail moving. It. That was the word you used for _things_.

I knew all about things from the pictures Garland sometimes showed me. Trees and statues and machines and insects. They weren't alive, not really, even though trees could die and statues looked alive and machines moved and insects had senses and muscles and could be splatted into mush. I frowned down at my reflection, and then made my face as empty as I could. Now I looked just like a smaller version of all the other Genomes. Was I a thing as well? A life-like machine made of delicate flesh? I swiped at the blank face in the water and pushed myself to my feet. I was in a bad mood now, and the thing that had caused it was going to pay for it.

I marched round the pond and stared up into the other Genome's face, daring it to do something. It carried on staring at the pond like I wasn't there. Like I was some sort of thing, just another part of the scenery. It was just too much to take, and I kicked the Genome hard on the shin to try and get rid of the emotions churning at the bottom of my throat. It turned to look at me then, a tiny bit angry but mostly confused, and I kicked it again. This time it raised a hand against me, the expression on its face not changing a bit, and I took a step or two back. The hand went down as smoothly as a lever, the face relaxed, and it was like nothing had happened. I briefly considered trying to push the Genome into the pond, but I'd be in _big_ trouble if I did that.

A loud groan from my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten for several hours, and I stalked past the Genome into the inn, which was where all the other Genomes came to rest and nourish their bodies. I had rooms of my own in the castle and I didn't need to come in here at all, but it was a long walk there and back for a little Genome like me.

I walked through to the back of the empty inn and up to the counter. It was deserted as usual, but there was a bell on the counter-top that would summon a cook. The trouble was, the counter was higher than I was and I knew from experience that the kitchen Genomes were too stupid to respond to my calls. I knew I could reach the bell if I jumped up and slapped my fingers down onto it, but I hated doing that. It was so... undignified, and I wished I was better at moving things with my mind. Garland said I was doing well considering I was only two _months_ old, but I still couldn't do anything useful. Time to change that a little, I thought suddenly, and began to concentrate.

The blue glow appeared around my hands, and I sent it _to_. The invisible energy wrapped itself around the bell, nearly slipping off a couple of times, but finally I had the mechanism under control. I grinned widely, and pulled the little brass knob kind of downwards (it didn't make sense pulling things to push them just because you were below them, but that was what Garland said you had to do). There was a ding from above me, and I nearly hugged myself with happiness. No more silly jumping around for me! I pressed the button a couple more times just to know that I could, and then I heard the kitchen doors open.

"It's me, Kuja!" I shouted up to the unseen Genome. "I want some food!"

"I will fetch you some gruel," came the flat reply, and then the sound of the kitchen doors. A few moments later, the doors opened and a full tray was placed onto the counter.

"Bring it round to me," I ordered. I had to tell them this every single time, otherwise they'd just leave it where I couldn't reach it. They were as stupid as machines sometimes. The Genome appeared with the tray, gave it to me, and left without a word.

I took it over to one of the long enamelled tables and sat on the cushioned bench, then stared into the pale slop. It was always the same, never any real texture or taste or colour, and it was the only thing the Genomes ever ate. It was as boring as they were. There was also a cupful of multicoloured vitamins that came with each helping of gruel, but I ignored those. I was only after something to keep my stomach quiet, and I took enough pills back at the castle to make me rattle when I walked.

As I spooned the tasteless stuff into my mouth, I heard another Genome come into the dining area. It didn't stop at the counter, but walked up to me and stopped at my shoulder. A summons from Garland, no doubt. It never was anything else.

"Garland wishes to see you."

I mouthed the words as it spoke them, and got up and walked past it without saying a word. There wasn't any point in acknowledging them. If I immediately stopped what I was doing and obeyed the summons, then that was enough of a response. If I told them that I'd be along later, or just ignored them, they'd stand there until I began the journey back to the castle, and probably until something else came into their empty heads.

What did Garland want this time? He usually said whatever he wanted to say during meals or lessons, so I was left alone in the village. Most of the summons were as a result of 'unwarranted abuse of my fellow Genomes', but I'd been good since my last telling-off and even if he did know about the Genome by the pond, he didn't concern himself with such minor incidents. That didn't leave many possibilities. Sometimes, if I'd been gone longer than usual, he called me back to take my pills, but I'd had some with my last proper meal so that wasn't an option either. What else could it be?

I half remembered one time, about a _month_ ago, when he'd taken me out to the observatory and told me things I hadn't understood. Maybe he was going to do that again. I hoped he would. The orange light there was much nicer than the soft yet piercing blue light that filled the village, and it had been so soothing to look at it while his clear voice washed over me. Yes, maybe that would be it. A practical lesson.


	8. Outside: III

**The Gift Of Purpose**

* * *

Garland's private chambers were at the back of Castle Pandemonium, beyond a badly lit maze of monster-infested corridors. They weren't allowed to attack me, but they still followed me around because I was fleshy and small. I hated the far-above whirr of the abadons' wings and the stink of the malboros skulking just inside every shadow, and I didn't see why Garland allowed them to run free when I came to see him. Even he didn't trust them. I had to wear an enchanted belt just in case something stupid tried to rip my head off.

One time, an injured abadon had swooped down on me, thinking it had found an easy meal, but a few Thunder spells made it listen to Garland's orders. I wanted to run away from the shrieking, wheeling insect, but only idiots ran when there were monsters around. So I had walked through the maze, heart hammering in my chest, head pounding from all the spells I'd cast, and after an eternity I reached the warded spiral stairs that led to Garland's chambers. I wanted to run then, to finally give in to the frantic commands of my body, but I hadn't. There was no point any more, and it would only leave me out of breath. When I had told Garland all this, he seemed impressed by my conduct and told me that I had an unexpectedly good head for danger.

This journey through the maze was almost completely silent, and I wondered why everything was so peaceful. _Perhaps the monsters have been fed..._ I stopped as a deliciously horrible thought hit me. What if Garland fed the Genomes to the monsters? What if he left them in this maze? They wouldn't know any spells, or that they shouldn't run, and then they'd be eaten up like vitamin pills. He could do it easily. Every single day, he could round up all the other Genomes and put them in the maze, and then he could somehow replace them all while I slept, and _I'd never know_.

I giggled nervously and carried on walking, telling myself I was imagining things but half expecting to find a lock of bloody hair or a splinter of spat-out bone. After a few more twists and turns, I reached the orange light curtain that meant complete safety. There had been no monsters and no bodies, and I grinned at my foolishness. Well, the maze was the sort of place that encouraged dark thoughts. It was a place for monsters of the flesh, all guttering torches and sweating walls and blank yawning spaces, and monsters of the mind were equally at home in its endless corridors. Not a bad bit of wordsmanship there, I thought, and grinned again.

My mind had been improving in leaps and bounds over the last few weeks. My very first memories of Bran Bal were nothing more than unconnected blue blurs Garland would sometimes appear in, pointing at things and speaking in a language I hadn't learnt yet. That had been only six _weeks_ ago according to Garland, and now here I was, walking unafraid through a den of monsters and letting my imagination run wild.

I walked up the seventy-two steps to Garland's rooms, shuffled off my slippers, and passed through the great double doors to his study. He was in the far corner of the room, sat behind his desk as usual and looking mildly at me over clasped fingers, and I bowed slightly as I had been taught.

"Sit down, Kuja. I have much that I need to tell you, and I judge that you are ready."

His voice gave no hint of what he might say, and I was instantly curious. I walked across the room, the thick carpet a welcome relief from the close-packed earth below, and sat down on the armchair closest to the desk. It was the smaller of the two in the room, but I could still sit cross-legged on the seat without touching the sides or back. Garland waited for me to settle into its depths before speaking. "You are no doubt aware by now that you are not quite the same as the other Genomes in Bran Bal. Today I shall tell you why you are different, but first I have something to ask you. What do you know about the Genomes?"

As he had spoken, I had been leaning further and further forward in eagerness, waiting for the secret to be revealed. When I realised he wasn't going to explain everything immediately, I flopped back into the chair, not bothering to hide my disgust. "We are vessels for the souls of Terra when they awaken, and they will only awaken when Terra's souls outnumber Gaia's."

None of that meant very much to me. Terra was the planet where Bran Bal was, and Gaia was a planet that existed beyond the portal that lit Terra's surface. There were globes of the two planets on Garland's desk, but I didn't know which was which. I carried on, wondering why Garland wanted me to go over all this. "The Old Terrans have been sleeping for thousands of years, but the time of their awakening draws near." That meant slightly more to me. Wouldn't the awakening of Terra mean that a soul would take over my body and drive me out? I'd never dared ask that question, but it seemed that Garland was ready to give me an answer.

"For these last five thousand years, I have been draining away the souls of Gaia in order to make room for those of Terra. It is a slow process, slower than your newborn mind could ever hope to comprehend, but the end is in sight. There are now enough souls on Gaia that their loss would mean the restoration of Terra." His hands were flat on the table and he was sitting slightly forward like he was about to rise. He looked at me intently.

"It is time for the final phase of my plan to begin. I will require a champion; one who has the power, the position and the motive to become my glorious angel of death. I will need him to be cunning, patient, and ruthless. I will need him to have grace, intelligence, and charm." Now he had risen to his feet and was pacing back and forth in front of his desk. He was animated as I had never seen before, and I could feel confidence and power rolling from him in waves. Something was about to happen. Something that would change my life forever.

"He will have a fair face to deceive those among whom he walks, and his nature will be as demonic as his face is angelic." He turned to me, and I felt a shiver of excitement thrum through me. This was it. This was the great moment. "He will look upon the world and make it his own, this creation of mine. My wicked angel. My virtuous devil. My fiery little Kuja."


	9. Outside: IV

**Staring Down The Abyss**

* * *

And just like that, the memory vanishes, leaving me shaken and confused. I haven't thought about my childhood in years. Why should I remember it now? Why should I ever remember my development in that dark blue belly of light with its secrets like the layers of a gysahl pickle? Am I going to relive my whole damned life, despite my best efforts? Not that I have many regrets, but rather that there are things I've swallowed that I have no wish to regurgitate...

"Garland."

_"What is it?"_

"What is going on here?"

_"Memory and experience are one in this place. There are only two of us here, and this world is newly born and extremely volatile. I expect that we will both relive many more memories before the end comes._"

Remembering the overwhelming rush of memories and the complete loss of identity I experienced just after entering the Iifa Tree, I frown. That isn't an experience I'd care to repeat, and I say as much to Garland.

_"I doubt that will happen,"_ he says, sounding surprisingly undisappointed. _"You will almost certainly travel back through your own memories. And, as I had the pleasure of witnessing your... what was the phrase again?"_

I know from experience what that light tone means. There's only one thing that could have amused him like that...

_"...'Unwarranted abuse of your fellow Genomes',"_ he continues, savouring the words like a fine wine. _"I am prepared for the possibility that you will see my past. Perhaps you will realise that I am not the ogre you believe me to be."_

I don't want to see Garland's memories, and he has no right to see mine. He has no right to know how much I owe to him. Not just wealth, property and control of the Invincible (when it suited him, I think bitterly as I recall the way Alexander was snatched from my grasp), but the person I was when I finally left Terra to begin my work on Gaia. I don't want him to know how long it took me to realise that he was using me completely. Using me from the moment I was born.

"'He will look upon the world and make it his own...'" The statement hangs heavy in the air like woodsmoke. _Using me. Lying to me._

_"Are you disappointed by the role you played in Terra's restoration? You did well, Kuja. Have you no pride in your achievements?_"

"You really don't understand, do you Garland?" There is nothing I can say to bridge the gulf between us, and that is always how it has been. I thought when I was young that one day we'd see eye to eye, that one day there would come a shining moment when I could turn to Garland and say to him: 'I understand you. I see how your desire and your will turn'. I was wrong. "Taharka and the Chaoses are dead and gone. You're only here because you're too stubborn to lie down and die. The flower of Terra is withered even before it blooms. Why are you so satisfied?"

"_What would I prove by railing against my fate? I am satisfied by the path destiny has chosen for me, and I will do whatever is in my power to guide Zidane along his path._"

"And what of my fate, Garland? I follow my own script now. I have nothing to say to you, and it is time for our ways to part once more. I trust you will not be too offended by my lack of manners?" I bow mockingly to the air and walk towards the castle, but in my mind's eye he still walks beside me and smiles.


End file.
